


Memory

by snowpuppies



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-04
Updated: 2009-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fred comes under Illyria's attack, Willow tries to help. AU of <i>A Hole in the World</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Kitty Poker](http://kitty-poker1.livejournal.com/).

  


 

  
Willow groans as she sits up. Did anyone get the number of that bus? Or possibly Sherman tank?

Blinking, disoriented, she looks around. She's in a bedroom, eclectic décor, photos around the mirror and stuffed animals on the bed, and Wesley, red-eyed and gaping, is staring at…Fred, who isn't Fred anymore. She's all blue-y and…more than a little hot, in a creepy Trek convention sorta way.

Slowly, Wes turns towards her, eyes bright with hope…

And suddenly it all comes back.

Closing her eyes, she searches her being, delving into the corners of her mind, her body, her spirit, calling out for Fred, desperate to know if she's saved the girl, or if her soul, splintered and torn, has been scattered across the universe. The silence waits, mocking her frantic search.

Suddenly, her mind is flooded with sensations:

> It's dark and the chains are scratchy and the hay beneath her legs is itchy and she's so scared but she won't be scared and she's **not** a cow, she's a girl, she's a smart, competent, strong girl, and not a cow and she's going to make it through this and she will not break and she's going to remember and…3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939…

Willow gasps, eyes opening wide, to see Wesley only inches away, eyes wide with concern, fingers digging into her shoulders.

"Did it work? Is she there? Is Fred…" He breaks off to sob, just once, before turning to look at her again.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself before answering, "I—I think so, maybe."

> The crack of the whip echoes in the still of the morning right before the stinging pain blooms against her thighs. Whimpering, she picks up the fresh laundry she's dropped and scurries away to make it clean again.

"Maybe? What does that mean?"

Still reeling from the horror of being a cow and the sting of the whip—and that's a phrase she never thought she'd use, no matter how many years she spent living over a Hellmouth—she grips Wesley's body, fingers tangled in the cloth of his shirt, grounding her in reality.

"Jus—just give me a minute." A breath. Two. "She's here, but…disoriented, I think."

"Can you speak with her?"

"I dunno…give me a minute."

Closing her eyes, she finds a tendril of Fred's consciousness and wraps her magic around it, holding it in place while she casts her thoughts back an hour.

> She watches, horror-stricken, as Fred writhes and flails on the bed, Wesley's attempts to comfort only causing her to cry out in pain. She approaches and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against her body as he silently shudders in time to the tremors of the dying girl on the bed.

A wave of fear washes over her, followed in a moment by understanding and curiosity.

> A red-haired girl comes to the Hyperion; she's very pretty. Fred watches in awe as she works her magic and brings Angel back to them.

Willow feels a smile working its way onto her face, and she answers.

> Brows furrowed with worry, Willow reaches out to take her Organic Chemistry final paper from her professor's hand. She searches the page for the color red: an "A+" is circled at the top.

She glances up at Wesley. "Yes," she answers.

He clings to her, and cries.

 

***

 

_When Wesley calls, he's frantic._

The panic in his voice travels through the phone lines, across the ocean and right into her body; she begins to shake while he explains what happened.

It's not the fear of a Watcher full of himself and in over his head; it's the anguish of a man in danger of losing his world.

Just listening to his voice makes her want to cry.

She packs a backpack, and takes off.

 

***

 

They leave L.A. at the end of the week.

She feels badly for Wesley, of course, and can't help but think if there were someone who had the smallest, the teensiest bit of Tara in them, she'd do anything to be near, attempt anything to communicate.

But Wesley can't communicate with Fred—so far, only Willow has that privilege—and really, what with the puppy face and the stalker routine, he's starting to drive Willow a little bit towards Crazyville.

It sucks, but short of some way wiggy dark mojo—which she isn't all too certain Wesley wouldn't be willing to try, even though it's on Willow's magical no-no list—there's nothing she can do.

So when Buffy calls with a Big, she takes the opportunity and she and Fred get leafy.

She can't help but think how big the suckage is that Fred's all alone in the dark, so as the week's worn on, she's grown accustomed to establishing a near-constant flow of images and memories between herself and Fred.

As she begins the flight home, she begins to explain Buffy, the Slayers and her makeshift family, odd as it is.

It's the most fun she's had in a while—reminiscing and chatting with Fred—even if she does have to stop twice for tacos.

 

***

 

_ Wes is a wreck when she gets there. _

They're all a wreck, really.

She doesn't know what she can do to help, but she wades into Wes's books; it's a shame that she can't enjoy his read-any-book-in-the-world-you-want-library, but she's used to putting academic glee aside for end-of-the-world type things.

And while it may not be the end of the whole world, for these people—her friends—it will be, and that's close enough for her.

 

***

 

Fred doesn't like Kennedy.

She doesn't say anything—well, naturally she doesn't say anything since she doesn't exactly speak, of course—but she's always uncomfortable around the other girl, squirming and stiffening and wrinkling her nose inside Willow, until Willow has to pull away from Kennedy's embrace, careful to explain away her actions: something to do, somewhere to go, bathroom breaks to take.

She tries to explain, showing Fred memories of Kennedy's pursuit.

> Kennedy, strong and sure and beautiful, doesn't take 'no' for an answer. She's persistent, and playful, and all the attention is flattering. And Willow's been so lost…

On second viewing, it all looks a bit…stalker-y, she has to admit, but really, getting together with Kennedy and getting on with her life was a good thing, right?

She's just beginning to wonder about her current relationship with Kennedy when Fred answers.

> Knox approaches her, all puppy-eyed and hopeful, but she just can't. Sure, he's sweet and she can tell he cares about her very much, but she doesn't love him, and no matter how lonely she feels, she can't accept his offer. It wouldn't be right for her _or_ for him.

And all at once, she feels awful and horrible and almost ashamed, and she can't help but wonder if she's using Kennedy to fill the void left inside when Tara died. She knows she loves Kennedy, of course, but she's not quite sure if she's _in love_ with her.

And she's not sure that's fair.

 

***

 

_ It doesn't take long until they've exhausted the research._

There's no way to keep Fred with them.

And as strong as Willow is, she simply cannot face an Old One and live, and if she tried…well, Fred would more than likely be destroyed in the process anyways.

So, calling back on what she knows, she purchases an Orb of Thessela.  


***

 

One afternoon, Kennedy comes home scraped and bruised and bleeding after a run-in with a nasty gang of vampires.

Willow fusses over her without pause—like or not, Fred wouldn't keep aid and comfort from someone who was suffering—examining and tending her wounds.

She's nearly done when her eyes catch the scrape on Kennedy's forearm, right below the elbow, where the skin has been pulled away in a patch a few inches across. It's already healing, blood flowing sluggishly between the exposed muscles, but the resemblance is too close, and Willow stumbles to the bathroom as the memories flash through her mind.

> Warren screams as his flesh is ripped from his body with a squelching pop. The smell of blood fills the air as it runs down Warren's skinless body to seep into the dark earth. A tiny voice inside objects, revolted by her actions, but she shoves it away; he took away her Tara, and no punishment is enough. Solemnly, she watches as the life fades from his eyes and knows he deserves it.

She's surprised by the surge of anger that sweeps through her body as Fred replies:

> Word by word, she chants the spell to open the portal. Professor Seidel screams and begs and claws to keep out, but she knows he deserves it. They put her in the mud and the dirt and the manure, they took her name and her family and her future, and **he** was the one who sent her there. He deserves it.  
> As she watches him fall into the portal, his head lolling in death, the only thing she regrets is that he won't learn how it feels to be a cow.

The emptiness she feels about what she's done doesn't go away, but somehow she feels better knowing that Fred understands vengeance as well.

Sometimes it's rancid and bitter, turning one inside and out, wrenching the soul in agony…

But sometimes…it tastes like hope.

She leaves the bathroom in time to see Kennedy turning in circles to see her skinned elbow.

Smiling, Willow stops the spinning and patches the wound.

 

***

 

_ Fred's fighting for each breath, each moment, when Willow arrives._

She looks horrible, eyes sunk into her head, skin somehow purplish and pale at the same time.

Wesley clings to her shuddering body, tears soaking his face, his shirt, Fred's hair.

Willow clears her throat and begins setting up the ritual.

Wes barely acknowledges her; he's not happy with the path she's chosen, but as far as she can see, it's the only avenue they've got.

If they leave Fred to fight Illyria alone, she'll be torn to bits—and that's something you don't come back from—but if they time it just right…they can take out Fred's soul before she's gone forever.  


***

 

Two months later they get the news: Wesley's dead, and the whole of L.A. has been pulled into a hell dimension.

They shut themselves in the bathroom for five days.

The first day, Kennedy pounds on the door for an hour before leaving to go kill something; the second day, forty minutes; the third day, ten. The fourth and fifth day, they are undisturbed.

One by one, Fred shares images and sensations and feelings from the past:

> Wesley, nose deep in a book, glances up when she walks in the room; his face lights up, the book forgotten.
> 
> ~*~
> 
>   
> Lips, soft and strong and slightly chapped, caress her own, a smooth tongue darts across her lips, and she's never felt so loved.
> 
> ~*~
> 
>   
> Strong arms hold her as she struggles to breathe; she presses herself against his chest, his heartbeat thundering in her ear. She wishes she could hear that sound every night for the rest of her life. And then she remembers…she _will_.  
> 

Overcome by Fred's grief, something inside Willow crumbles, and she begins to send images back; things she's never been able to share with another are now pulled from her memory and re-lived through Fred's sorrow.

> A soft, smooth hand catches her own; fingers linking, their magic swirls around them, golden and silver and _alive_, and she knows this is the one.
> 
> ~*~
> 
>   
> Tara looks up from her History homework, smiling crookedly, and Willow's heart stops in her chest: _love_ is written all over Tara's face.
> 
> ~*~
> 
>   
> She turns, and Tara's there, striding across the room and pulling her into soft, but oh-so-strong arms, lips and tongue and teeth taking possession of her mouth. Her heart leaps, and she surrenders. She's helpless in the face of Tara's passion.

And so they cry. They cry for Wesley and for Tara. They cry for Angel and Gunn and Jesse and Ms. Calendar, they cry for Cordelia, they cry for Anya…

…they cry for Willow and Fred.

 

When they finally exit the bathroom, Kennedy's things are gone.

For some reason, it doesn't hurt as much as Willow expected.

 

***

 

_ Fred looks awful, but Willow can't help but notice how…**utterly beautiful** she is in her last moments, fighting with every second, refusing to give in, refusing to say goodbye._

She thinks her heart is breaking.

And when she thinks of what she's about to do, the truth she hasn't told, it does.

Wesley thinks she'll store Fred's soul in the Orb until they find a way to put her back.

What he doesn't know is that she won't survive a second transfer.

The human soul is strong, and Angel's had his soul taken and given again and again, but the battle Fred's waged with Illyria has taken its toll, and once she's settled into the Orb…

Her face is wet with tears as she begins the ritual.  


***

 

It's kinda weird, sleeping alone, but not.

Even three weeks after Kennedy's moved out, she misses the heat, the weight of another body in the bed, but not the company. Fred's memories chatter through her consciousness any time she's awake, but it's right on the cusp of sleep and awake that things are clearer, scents sharper, colors more vivid, sensations more...sensational.

Her eyes heavy with sleep, she brushes her consciousness against Fred's, just to say good-night, but instead she's swept into a memory.

> Cool, crisp sheets stroke her nude body. She writhes back and forth, just to feel the rasp of fabric against her skin.

Immediately, she's flooded with arousal, the flesh under her flannel pajamas flushed with heat.

She feels an answering rush of feeling, not as sharp as her own, but deeper, and knows Fred is feeling just as turned on as she is.

Fingers trembling, she reaches for the buttons of her top, slipping them open and pulling the material from her chest. Her nipples peak in the chilly night air.

> She slides her hands across her body; sides and stomach and shoulders and chest all shiver under her caresses.

The memories are so clear, so sharp, that she can almost feel Fred's tender touch. In moments her own hands join the assault, kneading at her breasts, fingering and twisting distended nipples.

She's more turned on than she's been in…a while, and she wriggles out of her bottoms and panties, flinging them to the floor then falling back to the mattress, legs spread wide in anticipation.

> She teases herself, fingers stroking the flesh of her hips and thighs, tugging lightly on the curls between her legs, then pulling away to start all over again. She shivers at the thought of being like this, so exposed and open, only a door between her and the world.

Something inside twinges, and she can feel the moisture pooling between her legs and she can't take it any more and slides her fingers inside.

The slickness coats her hand as she pumps them in and out, filling the spaces between her fingers, then running along the back of her hand.

> She feels so stretched, so full… With a cry she flips herself over, face pressed into the mattress, hips pumping up and down on her soaked digits and finally…_finally_, she reaches for that magic spot and begins to circle the distended flesh, again and again…

She bucks up into the touch, thrashing wildly as she plunges deeper, rubs harder.

Frantic with the urge to come, she slips two fingers from her free hand into her mouth, wetting them with her tongue, sucking the juices from her knuckles, slurping in the cracks between.

> She's getting hotter and hotter, pressing into her hand as the tingle begins in her toes, racing up her spine to explode between her legs. She convulses—fingers still sliding against the engorged flesh—again and again, until exhausted…

She falls to the mattress, sighing, "Fred."

She smiles, stretched out across the bed, basking in the afterglow, and feels happy inside.

And ok, so the relationship's a little, ok, a _lot_ odd, but she feels content, and that's something she hasn't felt since Tara was alive, and it feels good and she won't give it up now that she's found it.

A cool breeze caresses her damp skin and she shivers. Rooting around, she finds the sheet and blanket and snuggles into them, warm and satiated.

As she curls on her side to fall into slumber, she strokes the side of her cheek with her fingers, and Fred smiles.

 

***

 

_ She cringes as she feels Fred's soul rip away from her shuddering body._

For just a moment, she's transfixed; she can see Fred hovering, glowing softly, suspended in the air by Willow's magic.

She shakes off the trance and turns to glance at the Orb, but suddenly, she realizes that she just…**can't**, that she simply cannot condemn such a strong, beautiful, vibrant woman to such a horrible existence.

So she shuts her eyes…

…and opens her own soul…

 

…and **pulls**.

 

 

_FIN_.

 

Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.livejournal.com/183060.html).

 

Read the Timestamp: One year later - [Tempered](http://snowpuppies.livejournal.com/231523.html)


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